The Weapon
by Tememski
Summary: After OotP, PreHBP Harry leaves Hogwarts after the death of his godfather, Sirius, depressed and angry. At the Dursley’s, he thinks about his life in and outside the Wizarding World and comes to a decision – about his past, his present, and what remains o
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Weapon

Summary: (After OotP, PreHBP) Harry leaves Hogwarts after the death of his godfather, Sirius, depressed and angry. At the Dursley's, he thinks about his life in and outside the Wizarding World and comes to a decision – about his past, his present, and what remains of his future. Powerful! Harry but not Independent! Harry (you'll see)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; that belongs to Rowling – I just like to mess with Harry.

Chapter 1 – The Boy

Darkness shrouded the barren room, empty except for a single bed and its lone occupant. Even wearing the glasses that were carelessly thrown to the floor, the boy wouldn't have been able to see the ceiling he appeared to be studying so intently.

Shaggy black hair that normally defied gravity laid flat on his head, weighed down by weeks of accumulated grease. A slightly offensive smell permeated the room but with the absence of physical activity, with the few exceptions when he willed himself to eat, the smell wasn't bad enough for his 'family' to abandon their standard policy of ignoring him.

And so, for Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived, defier of Voldemort and beacon of light for the Wizarding World lay on his bed as he had for weeks, staring upwards and thinking.

At least, he thought it had been weeks. Time had since lost all meaning to him – standard time, anyways. He knew it was the second day since he had last sent a message to the Order and that tomorrow he would again send a small note stating simply:

_I'm fine. Nothing to report._

Beyond that there were no days, no deadlines, no waiting…he just was. And as despondent as the boy was he felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the opportunity to simply _be_, for the first time in his life.

Living with the Dursleys the boy had been expected to be a slave, and a punching bag; then in the Wizarding World he was their savior whom they loved to tear down from the pedestal they themselves had placed him upon.

But all these titles and names – the Boy-who-lived, the Harry Potter – they weren't him. All they saw were what the expected – wanted – him to be. Revered for an event that was not the result of any of his actions but those of his mother. Hated for the same reasons.

The boy chuckled grimly at this new thought; not only was he not loved for himself, but he was hated for the same reason. Draco, who hated him because he was trained to; Snape, who hated him because of James Potter; even Voldemort hated him because of an inept Seer's prophecy.

The prophecy…another subject that the boy spent a great deal of time pondering. A twist of fate, a flip of the coin, one chosen and the other not…

…kill or be killed.

When the boy had first heard the prophecy, he had railed against the injustice of becoming a murderer to survive – until sometime during his 'exile' he realized he already was a murderer twice over – Quirrel and Sirius.

Sirius.

The boy had loved his godfather, even though they hadn't known each other for very long. In Sirius the boy had thought he had finally found the family he had wished for so many years. It didn't matter to him that Sirius was like the rest – seeing the mirror image of his best friend James Potter and the baby the boy had been instead of who he had become. He was sure that with time Sirius would come to see Harry.

But he died instead, and as much as the boy mourned his godfather, he grieved more for the loss of what-might-have-been. But even then, how can you miss what you've never really had?

So instead, the boy was left alone again surrounded by the friends and of Harry Potter, the self-sacrificing Gryffindor hero. Someone who only existed in their own minds.

For his friends he is the burdened hero that they pitied.

For Remus he is the last link to the Marauders.

For Dumbledore he is the epitome of Gryffindor, the weapon to defeat Voldemort.

What do you do when you have no identity of your own…

…except that of a weapon.

A weapon.

As much as the boy struggled against the idea, once taken root the thought refused to budge. But the more he thought about it the more it made sense. His entire life had been spent having others manipulate him – forge him – into a better weapon. Every year the boy experienced trials and tests -- becoming harder, stronger, and determined to fight Voldemort. And when he was no longer needed, he was sheathed and sent into storage at the Dursleys until he was needed again.

When the boy had accepted these facts, he tried to argue to himself that once Voldemort was dead he would be free. But the boy had always known that wouldn't be the case from the moment he had found out his role in the Wizarding World. He was the Boy-who-lived – the only person to ever survive the Killing Curse. He was a miracle…and miracles only happen once.

And martyrs aren't any good alive.

Even if he somehow managed to survive a duel with one of the two most powerful wizards alive, the boy would spend his entire life looking over his shoulder. Surviving Death Eaters wanting revenge; aspiring Dark Lords wanting to make a name for themselves; politicians afraid of his political power.

A small noise broke the boy's concentration and the small amount of light coming from the now flapping doggy door revealed the meager meal Petunia had left. Unable to remember the last time he ate, the boy wearily sat up and dragged himself across the floor to retrieve the plate. Panting slightly at the minimal effort it took to eat, his thoughts again turned to his previous revelation.

If he had no freedom and no future, what choice (if any) did he have?

He could kill himself, but despite Sirius' death and the revelation of the prophecy, he still couldn't bring himself to end his life – not when his parents had sacrificed their own so he may survive.

He could try to join Voldemort, but the only way the Dark Lord would accept that the boy's change of heart was genuine was for the boy to reveal the full contents of the prophecy. And the boy had no doubt that he would be killed immediately afterwards.

He could runaway, but the boy suspected that either the Ministry or Dumbledore (or even both) had tracking charms on him or his wand and that it would only be a matter of time before he was caught.

Absently, the boy reached for another morsel of food only to be surprised when he saw his plate empty. For a moment, he examined the empty feeling that he felt at this discovery. It had been the same amount of food the Dursleys had always fed him, but having experienced the feeling of being full and content, the portions they served him seemed smaller. The Dursleys had taught him to be content with what he was given, to make the best of the situation and accept.

_It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live._

Was Harry -- just Harry -- only a dream and the Weapon a reality?

For the first time since he had arrived at the Dursleys, the boy felt a sense of purpose and determination fill his soul. If he was to be nothing more than a weapon for the Light, so be it. He would become strong, and powerful, and fulfill his purpose.

But he wouldn't let those who would wield him keep their delusions. He was _not_ Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived; he was _not_ the Gryffindor Golden Boy; he wasn't even Harry, the boy.

He was the Weapon.

It was an unpleasant surprise for the Dursleys when the heard footsteps down the stairs as they ate their breakfast that Sunday morning. Vernon's face grew red as he imagined the inconvenience and freakishness _the boy_ would bring to his day off. It all of Vernon's self-control not to get up and grab the brat by the collar and haul him back up to his room. But no doubt the boy would complain to his freakish friends about any _mistreatment_ and having the brat in his life was enough freakishness for Vernon.

"What is it, boy?" Vernon asked gruffly as the boy stood quietly by his chair.

To the Dursleys immense surprise, the boy didn't respond immediately but kneeled down before his uncle.

"I request more food, since I am unable to serve you properly without the required nourishment," the boy said in an empty voice, eyes on the floor.

Vernon's eyes narrowed shrewdly at the boy's statement.

"_Serve_ us?"

"Yes, sir." The boy didn't need to see his Uncle's face to know that a cruel and self-satisfied smiled was on it. But as much as he loathed his relatives, as a Weapon he needed to learn to obey the orders of his wielder quickly and without hesitation. He didn't have to worry about the Dursleys treating him kindly, or try and change his new attitude. By the time the Order came for him at the end of the summer, the change would be complete. Then he would serve his true master – whether the man liked it or not.

As the boy predicted, the smile grew on Vernon's face – echoed by his family.

"Very well, but if you serve this family, that would make us your masters and you will address us as such. Understood?"

"Yes, master," the boy replied without hesitation, in the same empty voice.

After all, what need did a weapon have for dignity?

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – the Visit

Arabella Figg looked out her window at #4 Privet Drive, her eyes narrowing in speculation. It was two weeks before the end of summer and she had noticed some startling changes in her assignment's behaviour.

She had accidentally almost strangled one her cats that she had been petting the first time she saw Potter leave the house during the summer. In fact, she had been days from owling the Order about her concerns, having not seen a hair of the boy (not even through windows) the first month.

But the boy left in the company of the behemoth the Dursleys call a son, and returned several hours later none the worse for wear. Upon their return, Vernon Dursley had even seemed to civilly greet young Potter and Arabella couldn't help but wonder what had caused such a change in the Dursley's behaviour.

The next great shock Arabella had was seeing Potter in brand new, _perfectly fitted_, clothing. It was then she noticed that the normally scrawny and short boy had filled out, developing some well-toned muscle and had even managed to grow an inch or two. Potter was still short but he no longer looked two or three years younger than he was.

So it hadn't been as much of a shock it would have been when she heard from the Order that Potter hadn't once owled them asking to leave the Dursleys. She figured that Harry and the Dursleys had managed to come to an understanding and were trying to repair past bridges. However, despite her reports to the Order, Dumbledore was still concerned about the lack of contact with the boy (beyond the short non-descriptive notes sent every three days).

Right on time, three figures appeared in front of the picturesque house. Arabella shook her head slightly, hoping that the arrival of the 'freaks' wouldn't affect what she saw as a positive change in the Dursley household.

((((((0))))))

"I do not see the point in this futile visit," Snape snapped, eyeing the neighbourhood with distaste, "Potter has been surprisingly un-annoying this summer and I would like to enjoy my last few weeks of peace and quiet before having to deal with the brat once again."

"Severus," Minerva scolded, "Harry hasn't made any contact with his friends or the Order outside what he required to do. He's had to deal with the death of his godfather by himself all summer, and who knows what those awful Muggles have done."

"God forbid they should smother the poor child," Severus replied sarcastically. Dumbledore smiled at the banter between his two professors (though he wished Severus would take of his blinders in regards to Harry.)

Dumbledore went up the walkway, assuming his colleagues would follow and rang the doorbell. Listening the chimes, the Headmaster smiled in amusement. It was always intriguing what Muggles would come up with.

The wizards weren't surprised when Potter answered the door, but they were confused when the boy portrayed no emotion at their arrival – not even simple surprise. Potter just bowed subtly and silently invited them into the house.

"What do you want?" Vernon asked sharply, noticing the new arrivals with thinly disguised anger.

"We're merely here to check on the boy," Snape sneered at the overweight Muggle.

Vernon's cheeks grew red at the condescending tone of the Potions Master. Dumbledore, however, was more concerned by Harry's reaction – or rather, the lack thereof. The boy had remained perfectly still, between the wizard's and his uncle but out of the way, staying silent and watching everything careful with an expressionless face.

"Boy, tell them you're fine so they can get the hell out of my house," Vernon snarled, his eyes never leaving Snape.

"I'm fine," the boy responded promptly. At this, even Snape noticed the remarkable lack of emotion coming from the boy. Potter wasn't known for being even-tempered.

"Perhaps we could talk to Harry in private," Dumbledore said gently, looking at the boy with concern. However, Vernon wasn't about to let these freak stay inside his house any longer than necessary. Not that he had any reason to fear the freaks, not while he had _him._

"The boy just said he was fine. Get out of my house. Now," Vernon responded in almost the exact same tone that Snape had used on him only moments before. The Slytherin's leash on his anger broke at the Muggle's tone and lifted his wand and pointed it, ready to curse the obese man.

Instantly, the boy was moving before Snape's arm had finished moving. Not letting him utter a syllable, the boy grabbed Snape's wrist and twisted, causing the man to cry out and pain and drop his wand. The boy quickly shoved his professor face down on the floor with his right hand and managed to catch the still falling wand with his left. Quickly, he placed himself between the wizards and Vernon, who was smirking at the scene. All of this taking place in a matter of seconds.

"Leave now or I will have the boy throw you out," Vernon said pompously, enjoying the power he held over the 'freaks'. The boy's eyes remain impassive as he watched the wizards carefully for any sign of hostility. There didn't appear to be any, except from the scowling Snape, but he did notice the lack of twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes.

"Harry, give the wand back to Professor Snape," Minerva said in a stern voice, the boy's Head of House obviously expecting to be obeyed. The boy remained impassive.

"The boy won't listen to you. I'm his master," Vernon said arrogantly, his pride blinding him to the consequences of his statement. But the man thought himself safe, and congratulated himself on his intelligent thinking in regards to the boy.

The boy had not only resumed him normal 'duties' but had also taken upon others under his own initiative. One of those happened to be as a training partner for Dudley. Watching the boy, Vernon had struck upon the great of idea of having the boy act as a bodyguard. The wizards wouldn't go through the boy they seemed to care about so much, and the boy obeyed only him.

"Mr. Dursley, what have you done?" Dumbledore asked seriously, his power beginning to leak out. For a moment the man felt a streak of fear, before he remembered his protection.

"I've sheltered the boy, given him food and clothing – it's only right that he call me master."

Dumbledore turned back to Harry, who remained in front of Vernon, guarding him.

"Harry, return Professor Snape's wand to him."

Immediately, the boy handed over the wand to the irate professor who looked shocked to suddenly find his wand in his possession.

"Boy!" an outraged Vernon yelled, and in his anger he forgot about the freaks and struck his nephew. The boy barely moved from the blow, still no emotion on his face.

"Harry, go upstairs while we have a talk with your uncle," Minerva said quietly, fierce eyes trained on Dursley. But again, the boy didn't move.

"Are you deaf, Potter, leave!" Snape snapped, tired of Potter's game. But again, the boy didn't move. Dumbledore eyed Harry speculatively and said calmly, "Harry, go to your room."

Like before, the boy obeyed the command without hesitation and started up the stairs, ignoring 'Master' Vernon's orders to remain.

Dumbledore turned back to Vernon, an almost unheard of deadly gleam in his eyes, "Mr. Durlsey, I believe we should have some matters to discuss."

((((((0))))))

Harry sat on his bed, quietly thinking. He knew this was going to be the first great test of his convictions since he had decided to accept what he always was. Surprisingly, becoming the Durlsey's servant hadn't been that difficult; after all, it wasn't that different from what was expected from him before. Actually, Harry had been treated better as a servant, than as the 'ungrateful free-loading freak'.

For Harry, the difficult part hadn't been the chores but dealing with his emotions as he did them. Despite the fact it was his decision, it galled Harry just how little his relatives thought of him. But he forced his anger down, and occupied himself instead with thought of how to please his 'masters'.

It was that Harry noticed that it was becoming easier to play his role. As he constantly kept his thoughts on how to better serve, responding to commands became second nature. And just as he hoped, the Dursleys didn't give a second thought to treating their nephew even more as an indentured servant. They expected to be obeyed immediately, and so didn't do anything dissuade this behaviour in Harry.

Briefly, Harry had grown worried that he wouldn't be _able_ to disobey anymore, but reassured himself with the thought that those he chose to be his wielders wouldn't ask him to do anything to terrible. Because of their hatred for anything 'unnatural', it hadn't occurred to the Dursleys to have Harry perform any magic for them (with the exception of Vernon's standing order to protect the family from 'freaks'). Despite this, of perhaps because of this, Harry had discovered something interesting with this new mentality in relation to his magic.

_**Flashback**_

_The boy had awoken early that morning, quickly getting ready so he could serve his 'masters' their breakfast. Grabbing his clothes, he looked at them for a moment, still finding it strange to own new, well-fitting clothes despite having had them for over a week. He mused, briefly, on how all it took was to become a servant in order for him to be accepted while not as family, but at least in the house. Shaking the thoughts away, he went downstairs to prepare breakfast._

_Unfortunately, that was going to be easier said than done. At some point in the night, the refrigerator motor had burnt out, leaving most of the food inside the fridge spoiled. The boy raked his mind, trying to find a solution._

_He didn't have any money (Muggle, anyways) so he couldn't just go out and buy more bacon. Waking the Dursleys was out of the question, and because of the Underage Law he wasn't able to use his magic._

_Trying to control his rising panic, he said harshly to himself, "Your master has ordered that you have breakfast ready by seven a.m., so just do it."_

_At the last four words, the boy felt a peculiar feeling wash over himself and suddenly found himself staring at a package of unspoilt bacon, and a container of eggs. Blinking, the boy decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and quickly made breakfast._

_When the Durlsey's came down an hour later, breakfast was ready and on time._

Flashback end 

That had been the first, if not the last incident of his magic acting on its own. As far as Harry had been able to figure, it was an advanced form of 'wish-magic' like children do. Because of the mental conditions the Dursleys were unknowingly putting him through, the possibility of _not_ being able to do anything never crosses his mind. Without that kind of self-imposed limitation, Harry had discovered he could do almost anything with his wandless magic – though he usually didn't know how or exactly what he did.

This made him an extremely powerful weapon, especially in the hands of a ruthless wielder. Harry would have to choose his wielders carefully – Merlin, forbid if someone like Fudge ever gained control over him.

_Besides, _he rationalized, _any blood I spill will be on his hands – after all, the blame lies with the person not the weapon._

Harry's eyes glittered with determination as he listened to the heavy sounds of feet ascending the stairs. He may not have control over his life, or his destiny, but he chose what he has become and who his wielder is.

Whether they like it or not.

TBC


End file.
